Redclaw
by Haliax
Summary: In his own words, Cerellean Whiteclaw recounts his epic tale of love and loss during the War of the Ancients and beyond. My submission to the 2010 Blizzard Global Writing Contest.


"It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."  
— Rose Kennedy

**Prologue**

"Sit awhile and hear my tale, traveler," said the gravelly voice from beneath a sea of violet hair.

It was through a hazy light that I contemplated the form before me. We had been sitting for nearly an hour, he and I, before the silence was broken between us. He absentmindedly fingered a weathered-looking golden pendent. I still had not seen his face. In truth, I was afraid of what I would see written upon it.

The story was spoken of by few in Northern Kalimdor. No two were the same and none were complete. Such is the way of legend. All I had to go on was the one fact that all agreed upon: In Auberdine there dwelled an old elf sick with love.

He was a druid, some said. He had fought demons beside the Arch-druid Malfurion Stormrage. He had walked the bizarre landscapes of the Emerald Dream and awoken to tell about it. Others said he'd never known the Dream, only the Nightmare….

"What say you? Will you hear my story, traveler?" he asked. "Be warned, once you have heard it, you may never give it back."

I sipped my drink again in silence, contemplating the meaning behind his words.

"Why do you wish to tell me your tale, old one?" I asked in a hushed tone.

His hand left the handle of his mug and the swirling mane of his hair lifted from the bar-top. Cerellean Whiteclaw turned and looked up, revealing his face for the first time. His grim visage was perpetually tear-stained and gaunt, and the amber of his night elf eyes seemed even emptier than others of his race.

"Why do I want to tell you my tale?" He paused and gripped his mug once again, staring longingly into the depths of the blood-red liquid within.

"Why?" he continued. "Because every time I tell it, there is less in me to bear."

I paused before answering, even though I already knew what I would say. I realized then that the air in the tavern had gotten heavy, or I had failed to notice it earlier. The sound of the sea could be heard faintly in the background. The din of a ship's bell tolled over the waves.

"Aye, night elf, I will hear your tale."

He sighed beside me and spread his hands over the bar. "Then let us begin."

**Chapter One**

"You have to understand, Traveler," he began, "that I have lived longer than most everyone.

"I have seen the world before it was broken, conversed with dragons and demigods and walked the Emerald Dream. I have been through two world-altering wars and slept through others. I have heard the mighty call from the Horn of Cenarius. I have seen the ravaging of time and weather and _demons_ upon the land. To this day I do not know which is worse. People have come and gone. I have forgotten more than most ever learn."

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the young elf behind the bar roll his eyes and turn away. I sipped my drink while Whiteclaw took a moment to order his thoughts.

"And after all of that," he continued, "_all of that_, I can still remember my time with her like it was yesterday." He stressed his words with a pounding of his fist upon the bar.

"Her?" I asked.

"Her," he replied. "Anaya. _My _Anaya."

The look in his eyes when he spoke of her was of far-off places and times past. It was clear to me that this was the root of his story. I hung on every word.

"She was your mate?" I asked.

"Nay," he lamented, "of all she was to me, that she never was, although not for a lack of wanting. Our time together was just too short. She was, however, my friend, my partner and my love. For the short time that Anaya and I spent together, she was my world."

"She sounds like quite the she-elf," I said.

"Aye, traveler, that she was," he replied, the same far-away look in his eyes.

He seemed to come alive when talking of her; of his past. His eyes were brighter, his skin seemed somehow healthier. His mannerisms were livelier. It was a change that happened before my eyes. I welcomed it.

"But alas, all good things…."

A shadow momentarily fell across his visage, but he suddenly stood and gestured for me to do the same.

"Please, indulge an old elf. Let us take these drinks to go and escape the confines of this tavern. A druid never feels quite right when not outdoors, after all."

I saw no reason to deny him this and so I took my drink in hand and followed him out to the long pier. We sat on the edge, looking out at the misty waters of the Veiled Sea. There was a chill wind coming from the west and I pulled my cloak tighter about me. Despite the dreary weather, I was happy to be outside. I had always been partial to the refreshing smell of the sea.

"This is much better, don't you think?" asked Whiteclaw.

"Yes, thank you. I've never been one to stay indoors much either."

His eyebrow raised and I detected the beginnings of what I thought might have been the ghost of a smile.

"A student of the arcane not one for being kept indoors?" he asked with mock incredulity. "Is your kind not usually to be found in a dusty library someplace?"

I began to ask how he knew I walked the path of the mage, but stopped myself midsentence.

"Too many magi walk between great stacks of books and breathe in clouds of dust upon the air, never to actually _see_ a tree or wild beast." I offered with a shrug of my shoulders. "I much prefer to learn first-hand."

"So then I am an ancient tome of flesh and blood, eh?"

Momentarily I thought perhaps I had said the wrong thing and offended him, but I needn't have worried. He mirrored my shrug and continued.

"I'm far too old to question the ways of an eager scholar. Besides, your words have much wisdom to them."

I raised my mug to him and we drank.

It may just have been my imagination, but the misty expanses of the sea seemed to have undergone a subtle transformation as we talked. No longer did the ever-present haze ride along the waves and the sun itself seemed to be trying to force its way past the cloudbanks.

"Well, I suppose I'd better be getting on with it then," he said. "Where should I start?"

"The beginning is always an appropriate place."

"Ah yes, that it is, my young traveler," Cerellean replied. "So I shall begin at the beginning then. Let me take you back over ten millennia, to a time when the world had not yet become spoiled. The waters were clean, the trees were healthy and for some… there was love in the air."

**Chapter Two**

Like all things, the Kaldorei have changed with the passing of time. Cultures ebb and flow; ours is no exception. That being said, not all races have been faced with the very _extinction_ of their kind.

We were not always such a stern race. In fact, before the War, some said we were outright garish. It's a matter of taste I suppose. All I know is this: no place was this better evident than the great faire of Edel'mereth. Once a month, night elves from far and wide came to Suramar for the faire. They came to eat, drink and celebrate our culture, achievements and all things Kaldorei. I know what you're thinking and you'd be right. We _are_ a proud race. That much has not changed.

It was at the faire that I first met Anaya Dawnrunner.

Before the world was broken, I made a living in farming and gathering herbs. The planet was my life and my livelihood and I believe one of the reasons why I took so quickly to the druidic ways.

Besides being a place of revelry, the Edel'mereth was also the greatest market of the day. I often traveled there to sell my wares and it was on one such day that I first saw Anaya.

I won't pretend that it was love-at-first-sight or some other such fairytale-like encounter. That couldn't have been farther from the truth. In reality, it was humiliating and the first time that I became fully aware of the split in our culture. You see, the Dawnrunners were Quel'dorei.

I won't go into detail about the nature of the Highborne elves because I'm sure that you already know the stories. Suffice it to say that there was a fairly significant difference between her family and mine.

I had been heading back to my stand after an errand when I, quite literally, ran into her. I was taking a corner at a brisk walk when I found myself inexplicably thrust to the ground. All I knew as I went down was a tumble of green hair and the surprised shriek of a female. It was her of course.

After getting to my feet I got a good look at her for the first time. I immediately became of aware of my appearance. Whereas I was dressed in simple, homespun cloth garments, she was radiant in expensive silks. As usual for a farmer, I was slightly dirty. She, on the other hand, fairly _gleamed_ in the moonlight. However, as I would soon learn, everything is not always quite as it seems.

"Oh I'm so very sorry!" she exclaimed, collecting herself.

I shook my head. "No no, it was my fault. I wasn't watching where I was going," I replied.

Despite my embarrassment, it was not every day that I found myself in the presence of such a lovely she-elf. I was determined, therefore, not to let the opportunity go to waste.

"Are you well?" I asked her.

"I'm fine," she assured me. "Merely surprised is all."

"Well in that case, you should let me escort you to your destination to make sure we don't rush into each other again."

"Oh should I?" she replied with a blush. "I would, but unfortunately my mother is—"

She was interrupted by the shout of a woman rushing towards us.

"—right behind me," she finished.

An older, but equally as stunning elf ran to Anaya and looked at her with distress.

"I stop for one moment and you run off!" her mother said to her. "And look what happens to you; attacked by a commoner!"

"Mother!" she replied. "I did _not_ run off! And I was not _attacked_!"

Until that moment I had never truly _felt_ the distinction between the Highborne and common folk. The look her mother gave me could cut flesh.

"I think I'll be going now," I offered, backing away from them.

There was gloom in her eyes. I got the distinct impression that this had happened before. I sensed an unspoken apology as she let her mother pull her away. In a moment's time I was left standing alone, trying to process what had just happened.

I walked away in a stupor, contemplating how two people from the same family could be so very different. I was brought out of my reverie once again by Anaya rushing into me.

"This time I _did_ run away," she said with mischief in her eyes. "I still want that escort. Can you meet me tomorrow?"

I was slightly taken aback but couldn't help but smile. Still, her mother's actions towards me had their effect. "What about your—?"

"Don't worry about her," she replied with a dismissive wave. "I'll think of something."

"Ok then," I replied. "I'll escort you anywhere you want."

"I was hoping you would say that," she beamed. "Here, tomorrow. I'll see you then."

She started to run back the way she came when it suddenly hit me.

"I don't even know your name!" I called after her.

"It's Anaya!" she replied, running backwards. And with a wave, she was gone.

I _did_ meet her the next day. We met twice more that week and several more times the following week. From then on, it seemed as if nothing could come between us. Our bond grew as if a tree, from the ground up. Unfortunately time, the great giver and taker of life, was in short supply.

**Chapter Three**

"Cer, I cannot see a thing!"

"But that is exactly the point, my dear!"

Anaya had somehow continued to elude her mother to meet with me in various places between Suramar and her home, the Quel'dorei city of Ameth'aran. Truthfully I cared not where we met as long as we were together. Today we had agreed to meet outside of the great Temple of Elune. I purposely arrived late so I could surprise her from behind and place a blindfold over her eyes before she had a chance to react.

Amidst much protest I was leading her on a seemingly lengthy journey unto parts unknown. In reality, I was merely walking her in circles around the great city to give her the illusion of great distance.

"Cerellean Whiteclaw, I demand to be told where you are taking me!" she protested, a hint of amusement in her voice.

I chuckled at her obvious lack of animosity and touched her shoulders, stopping us.

"Alright, but only because we have reached our far-off destination, not because you have bid it so," I replied with mock contempt.

"I care not why, just please remove this blindfold!" she pleaded.

"Before I do, take a moment to realize that we have both arrived unscathed, due solely to my careful and expert guidance," I said.

She laughed at me with obvious glee and said, "Both of us will not soon be unscathed if you do not unbind my eyes!"

I reached up and removed the blindfold, allowing her to see our destination.

"Why… the Boughs… but I can _see_ the temple from here!" she exclaimed, pointing in the distance. "Tell me you did not walk us in circles!"

I could not answer as I was laughing far too hard, but that was really all the response she needed to know I had done just that. Still laughing, I grabbed her hands and pulled her down to a low stone bench that sat in front of the twin aspen trees. The look upon her face spoke of amusement and great confusion. I took her chin in my hand and leaned in to kiss the elf I had grown so very fond of.

"I brought you here because I wish to give you something." Reaching into my tunic, I removed a golden pendant that seemed to reflect the inner glow that emanated from the twin trees before us. It was set in the middle with a pale blue Moonstone.

It seemed to me that she held her breath while I brought it to her and moved her hair to clasp it about her neck. I looked then into her face and found all trace of bewilderment gone, banished by the pleasure I knew we both felt. I smiled down at her and she replied with a shy grin of her own that made my knees tremble. It was the same smile she had bestowed upon me the first day we met.

"It's beautiful, Cer," she breathed, feeling her words did it little justice.

And before the glowing Boughs of Azshara we embraced and sealed the gift with a kiss. I had no reply for her, instead trusting to the power of the moment to tell her how I felt. We touched foreheads and she looked down at it, turning it over in her fingers.

"I will keep it always," she said.

And I knew she would.

**Chapter Four**

And then in an instant, it was all over.

I won't speak overly long on the events that have become known as the Sundering and the War of the Ancients. Being a scholar, I'm sure you've heard it all before. But I will say this: those were dark days.

When it began, those of us in Suramar that were lucky enough to escape the first wave of demons were forced to either join the war effort, or band with the other refugees. As disgraceful as it may sound, I had the safety of only one elf on my mind: Anaya. I knew that she would be in Ameth'aran and I knew that I must get to her.

However, the tides of war do not grant mercy to a single elf. Stretched out before me, the host was locked in battle with beings the likes of which made my blood run cold. All around me was chaos. The sounds of steel and pain assaulted my ears from every direction. Blood, both demon and elf, bathed the ground I stood upon. It was utter carnage. My people were being slaughtered before my eyes.

Something inside me snapped then, and my decision was made. Ameth'aran lie somewhere on the other side of the battle. I could get there in one of two ways: I could attempt to skirt the host and hope to go unnoticed by any of the wretched invaders, or I could go _through_ it.

I bent to the gore-soaked ground and retrieved a discarded sword that lay there. It felt alien in my hand. I did not know combat, or war. I knew only that I had to get to Anaya. If this was to be the end of us; the end of our world, I wanted to spend it with her. However, I could not stand by while my people were eradicated. I would get to Anaya if it killed me, but I was going to take as many of _them _with me as I could. I strapped on a blood-soaked set of armor from a fallen night elf. And with a mighty roar that seemed to come from deep within, I charged into the host.

I learned quickly that when faced with one's own mortality, instinct quickly takes over. The last time I had held a sword it was made of wood and I was a youngling. But now, faced with my own imminent demise, I fought with everything I had in me. I swung my sword with an animal ferocity I had not know I possessed. It felt like there was a beast in me, deep down inside, which was only then beginning to awaken. It both frightened and excited me. However, it was not enough to intimidate the enemy.

It could have been hours, or days; I don't know which. I fought tirelessly, all the while trying to affix an image of Anaya in my head to replace the unending death that surrounded me. Unfortunately, it did little to alter the crimson world I found myself in.

Eventually, I did begin to tire. My lack of martial training was beginning to show itself at last and with my fatigue came worry. I worried that I would not make it out of this war alive. I worried that I would not see Anaya again. I worried that she was already lost. Doubt on a battlefield is almost as harmful as an enemy's sword. I began to waver and nearly lost my footing. Close calls were coming with increasing frequency. My eyes were dark with the realization that I would not live to see the end of the day. I would die here, on this battlefield, amidst the collected gore of demon and night elf alike.

And then from above, as if mirroring the rage within me, I heard the call of what could only be one thing: a dragon. They descended from the skies upon the enemy; red, blue, green, bronze, black. The smell of burning demon permeated my nostrils. We fought on with renewed vigor. Soon night elf and dragon were joined by tauren and earthen and furlbog. Even the great demigods of the world came out to fight. A rallying cry went up within the host. The _demons_ seemed to be wavering now.

But victory, although seemingly in our grasp, would not come easily. Before long, even demigod began to fall to the might of the Burning Legion. A noticeable shift occurred. Later we would hear about the betrayal of Neltharion and the decimation of the blue dragonflight. And then like a nightmare, I beheld Archimonde for the first time. His image would be almost as prevalent in my mind as Anaya's for the millennia to come. In the back of my mind I knew I had not come any closer to reaching Ameth'aran. The demons were just too many; the battle too immense.

Before my thoughts even had time to return to shadow, a great wind swept up among the host. At first, we did not know what was happening. Was it another trick of the enemy? Was it the Earth Warder, come back in his madness? Soon, it became clear that all was not right with the Well. And then, to our astonishment, the demons were pulled away, sucked back into the portal from whence they came. Soon, they were all gone. Our celebration however, was short lived. The Sundering was upon us.

**Chapter Five**

It came in a rush of wind and waves and noise. It was quite clear that something big was happening. A call from the horns brought the host together and as one, we ran. The last thing I knew before the world imploded was the realization that I would not see Anaya again. I hoped that wherever she was, she was hastening herself to safety. As the displaced waters of the world rushed around me, I could think of nothing but her. Why had I not tried going _around_ the battle? What would she be thinking of _me_ now? I had failed her. I had failed us. My thoughts were as dark as the water that engulfed me.

I don't remember much of what happened before I woke up on the newly formed shores of Mount Hyjal. When I came to, things were surprisingly calm, all things considered. There seemed to be a haze settled over my people. Several were merely standing about, blank looks upon their tired and dirty faces. Others seemed to wander aimlessly. I was struck most by how few of us there were.

With a start, I realized that if I was alive, there was still a chance Anaya was as well.

Then, I heard a snatch of conversation between two bedraggled elves nearby. "—Ameth'aran, in ruins," one said.

"Good riddance, I say," replied the other.

I rushed to them and grabbed the speaker upon the shoulders.

"What have you heard about Ameth'aran?" I shouted. I could see the bewilderment clearly upon his face.

"I—I've already said all I know!" he replied. "I heard from another that it was in ruins! It was leveled by the demons not long after their arrival!"

His words hit me like a wave. In shock I dropped to my knees before them. All of it had been for naught. That I had fought and failed and nearly drowned meant nothing. Her city was destroyed. She was dead. It was over.

'No!' I thought. 'It cannot be! She may have escaped! She may be trapped! She may be drowning!'

As if possessed I sprang to my feet and rushed toward the water. I heard a cry from behind me as the two elves realized what I was about to do. I cared not. I had to find her. I ran into the surf, preparing to dive. As I was about to spring forward, hands grasped me about the waist.

"No!" I yelled. "Let me go! I must find her! I must find Anaya!"

"There's nothing out there!" one replied, holding me back. "She is dead! You must accept this!"

With one final push I threw them both off, but before I could dive, they were on me once again. We collapsed on the shore, the waves crashing over us. I stopped struggling after a while and succumbed to the racking sobs that had been waiting on the edge of my psyche since I had awoken. They let me go and stepped back. They could see I was defeated.

I sat for a long while on the shore, staring out at the sea, trying to wrap my mind around what happened. The demons, the Well, the cataclysm, Anaya…. I always came back to Anaya. It was there, on the shores of the new sea, where I began to have my first regrets. Perhaps I had not spent enough time with her, or had not made our time together as meaningful as it should have been. I cursed myself for not wedding her, and in the back of my mind, for not bedding her.

I was broken from my reverie by a great crack and a rumble and the night elves at the base of the mountain were soon in a panic. And there, far up the mountainside, at what must have been the very summit, we witnessed the birth of what would be known as Nordrassil, the World Tree. It was a much needed glimmer of hope in those dark times.

We began to rebuild in Nordrassil's shadow. We all heard the stories of the brothers Stormrage and Tyrande Whisperwind. We learned the truth about the Queen and her Quel'dorei. The surviving Highborne were not looked upon kindly by the majority of night elves. I chose to give them the benefit of the doubt knowing from personal experience that they couldn't all be considered bad just because of their blood. Plus they looked like a particularly haggard bunch. It would be hard for them to adapt in the coming years. It would be hard on all of us.

Of course I asked others about Ameth'aran. It was the same from everyone. The few that knew anything all agreed. It had been destroyed. There were no survivors. In the coming months I would find myself constantly studying the faces of my fellow night elves. In the back of my mind I still held out the smallest glimmer of hope that I would see her.

It wasn't long before druidism began to spread amongst our kind. With all forms of arcane magic outlawed, many were drawn to it simply because it offered a sense of familiarity. Since first discovering the Well of Eternity, performing magic had been weaved into our very culture. The druidic movement helped alleviate the need some. Personally, I felt drawn to druidism because it allowed me a way to reconnect with nature, besides offering an escape from the lassitude of my daily life.

But there was also another reason: the Emerald Dream. I heard Shan'do Stormrage talk about it and how he had walked it to foil the demons' plans. I listened with rapt attention as he and Cenarius explained what exactly it was and what we could do there. A plan began to form in my mind.

I threw myself into the study of druidism. Soon I began to excel at it. I found the connection to nature, to the world around me, was like breathing. It came naturally. I reveled in the ability to shape shift. It became clear that I was particularly drawn to the form of the bear. Suddenly, the raw animal aggression I had harnessed on the battlefield made perfect sense. I did not create it; I had simply drawn from something that had always been there. The pieces began to fit.

I remember the first time I walked the Emerald Dream vividly. I felt a rush of exhilaration as I descended into peace and opened my eyes to the emerald expanses. Those first few times I did not stray too far. But with the help of Malfurion and Cenarius, soon I was walking it with a skill that matched either one of their own.

Looking back, it's easy to see why I became so adept at the druidic practices. I was simply motivated. I had _convinced_ myself that Anaya was still out there somewhere. She was alive and through the Emerald Dream, I would find her.

Finally, the day came when I took the Druid Oath and was allowed to practice on my own. This was a meaningful day for me. Although in a way I had been drawn to druidism for less than noble reasons, it had affected me in a profoundly positive way. I felt more alive those days than I ever have since. Non-druids cannot really understand the peace that comes from being in complete harmony with nature. It's like being aware at all times of the thoughts and feelings of another being, albeit a much larger and more significant one than yourself. Being a druid is like never being alone. Looking back, perhaps _that_ is the reason why I was so drawn to it.

Soon I would realize the idea that had infected my mind. You would think that over time, I would have grasped how idealistic I was being. How improbable it was that one night elf could survive for that long on her own. But the notion was like a cancer in my brain. And so I walked the Dream and amidst the emerald world, I cast myself in the direction of Ameth'aran.

After peeling back layers of the Dream, I eventually found it. It was indeed in ruins. I already knew this and was prepared to accept it though. However, I was not prepared to come away empty-handed and after my third search of the ruined city, it was clear that she was not there. Frustration clouding my mind, I broke the surface and flew across the tops of the waves. Still, there was no sign of her; no sign of anything. I almost lost myself to despair. I sank back into the cloudy green waters and thus began to sink farther into the Dream. If it had not been for Malfurion, who sensed something was amiss and went in to investigate, I probably would have never found my way out. But with much effort, pull me out he did. I lay there gasping, fuming, on the verge of tears. I told him everything. He sympathized, but told me I must forget her.

"One day, when the time is right, you will meet her again, Cerellean," he said.

I hung my head in defeat and shame. I had failed again.

Not long after, we banished the Highborne. After they were gone, life began to take on a modicum of normality. Our society was still rebuilding, but living had become easier. We adapted to our new world. Soon it became clear that it was time to honor our bargain to Ysera and enter hibernation in the Emerald Dream. For me, even the thought of that place was unsettling. But I had taken the Oath, and thus I followed Malfurion and the others into the Dreamways. From my barrow den, I slept the centuries away.

**Chapter Six**

However, it was not a restful sleep. This time, the Dream held no peace for me. I had not been asleep long when I first saw her. There, in the distance, was Anaya. I was startled and then overjoyed, and as I approached her, horrified. This was not the Anaya Dawnrunner I had known in life. This was Anaya as she would have looked in death. Her skin was bloated, gray and wrinkled, as if it had been underwater for far too long. Her hair was dripping and tangled with seaweed. Her eyes were closed. I stopped short when I saw her.

"Anaya…."

In response, she pointed a finger at me in silence. In that moment, I knew she blamed me for her death. I turned and fled, but anywhere I went, she was there; always silent, always accusing. She haunted me without fail, her ghost like my shadow. I could not escape her.

I endured century after century like this. The Dream became my own personal nightmare. There was no rest. I could not look after the Dreamways because I could not escape Anaya. Soon I didn't even try. Instead, I existed inside myself. Left to my thoughts, I drowned in my own sorrow. Every negative, guilty, accusatory thought I had ever had about myself was brought to the surface. I drifted far into the Dreamways. I could not find any of my fellows, or creatures native to the Dream. I was alone, in a place that I knew to be called the Rift of Aln. It was a deep, deep hole, swirling with darkness. It was in this darkness that I was made to watch that which I feared the most.

I looked on in horror as the destruction of Ameth'aran played out before me. I saw as the demons washed over the town as if a wave. I saw the Quel'dorei there try in vain to repel them. I glimpsed Anaya's beautiful mother, nearly broken in half by one of the Doomguard. The residents of Ameth'aran were slaughtered, as so many others were. And finally, I saw Anaya's end.

The green of her dress made it hard to discern her from the emerald darkness. It hung in tatters around her. It was on the edge of a wood that she had fallen. Mercifully, I was not shown the instrument of her death, merely the calm of her body. There was little blood. Her eyes were closed. I could see the golden pendant resting on her chest. If not for the odd twisting of her neck, she could have been sleeping.

Nothing I could have done could have prepared me for actually seeing her lifeless body before me. I tried to go to her, to kneel before her broken body. I wished desperately to touch her one last time; to tell her that I was sorry, to apologize for not trying harder to find her. But as I got closer, Anaya, Ameth'aran, the entire vision became farther away. I ran for hours, or days, or years. She continued to drift away, ever out of reach, until finally, she was gone. I fell soundlessly into the endless void of the Rift.

I drifted there for time unknown. Finally, as if she could do no more harm, Anaya's ghost had abandoned me to the darkness and to my thoughts. I felt as if I would float there forever, endlessly tormented by my own guilt.

I barely heard it. It was faint, as if it were coming from someplace very far off. But hear it I did. It was the call of a horn. Like a beacon of light in that dark place, I latched onto it for dear life. I rushed toward it, the call growing ever louder as I went. After awhile, it was blaring in my ears. The Dream was bright around me. And then, I was awake.

When I awoke in the Barrow Deeps, I found it was the call from the Horn of Cenarius. Malfurion, my shan'do, was calling for aid. The Legion had returned.

**Chapter Seven**

News of the demons' return traveled fast. Amidst mobilization I learned of the betrayal of Illidian. Malfurion, although obviously affected, seemed to put his own emotions aside for the time being.

The rest of the druids and I were surprised by the sight of humans and orcs. Having been away from the mortal realm for millennia, we had missed Azeroth's evolution. Our forces gathered around the World Tree. Personally, I was almost grateful for their return. On this day, I would gain retribution.

Their attack was relentless, deadly and eerily familiar. However, unlike last time, I was now prepared. Calling on all of my druidic training, I shifted forms. I was immediately overwhelmed by a feeling of warmth, and comfort. Soon after, as I came down from my euphoria, I became possessed by rage. Raw anger flowed outwards from my burly body. I tore through demon after demon, leaving nothing alive. They called me Cerellean _Redclaw_ that day.

Fight as they might, they had not anticipated the combined effort of night elf and human and orc. Slashing wildly at a Felguard, I turned and faced another nightmare as it fell dead beside me. Archimonde had returned. He did not last long.

Using the mighty Horn of Cenarius once more, Malfurion summoned the primal fury of the World Tree itself. In that moment there was a silence. Nothing moved. I could hear the strong heartbeat of my bear body. And then, piercing the silence, the ancient spirits of Nordrassil exploded, destroying the Defiler and much of his minion host. Once again, we had defeated the Burning Legion. Their end had come at the cost of our immortality, but it was a price well worth it. We knew it was not the end of the demon army, but for then, they were gone.

I will not speak long on the aftermath of the Third War, because you are not so young as to have escaped it. I myself ventured out to explore the Kalimdor I left behind. I felt a curious sort of closure over the defeat of the demons. On one hand, I felt the weight of justice lifted from my shoulders. On the other, was the ever present guilt. Again, I had survived where my Anaya had not. Contemplating this paradox I unknowingly wandered into familiar ruins.

I stopped short at what I knew to be the husk of Ameth'aran. The surroundings were irrevocably changed by the onslaught of time, but I recognized it as the last place I had ever seen Anaya. After I gave her the pendent at the Boughs of Azshara, I walked her home. The place where I was standing was right where I left her.

I knelt in the tall grass, smelling the earth under my feet. I could feel the very _feelings_ of the place around me and it was clear to me that it was restless. And then there, a ways off, I saw Anaya's ghost once more. I recoiled, ready to withdraw back to that deep place inside, but then I realized that this was not the same Anaya from my nightmares. This was Anaya as _I_ knew her. Much to my dismay, she appeared trapped, haunting the place of her death. It pained me to no end. Angered at her fate, I ran off, stopping here, in Auberdine.

**Chapter Eight**

Cerellean Whiteclaw paused in the telling of his tale to take a long draft from his mug. I didn't even know what I should say, if anything. His head was down, as if in remembrance.

"No need to say anything," he said, sensing my hesitation. "My story is not yet complete."

He paused again before continuing.

"I ask that you do not judge me too harshly for what I did next."

"This is your tale," I replied. "I think you have been given harsh enough treatment for me to add to it. I place no judgment."

"Thank you," he said, looking up at me once more.

"Seeing her there was a shock to my system," he continued. "It was one thing to see her haunting me; I deserved her blame. But to see her stuck there, where she died, was too much for me. I saw her in torment, shackled by her death to that place.

I knew that I should free her from her bonds, but try as I might, I could not raise my hand against her. I went back once, not long after, to try. She did not recognize me. The blank stare in her eyes brought me to my knees. I could not do it."

"So what did you do?" I asked, rather rudely.

"I enlisted a fledgling druid fresh out of Teldrassil," he replied, taking another long drink. "It was the only way to free her.

"I wanted to watch from the trees as she did what I should have done, but I couldn't even do that. When it was over, she returned to me here and told me it was done. Without anymore words, she grasped my hands in hers and dropped into them a dull, tarnished pendent. It was the gift I had given Anaya ten-thousand years ago," he said. "It was this."

He brought the pendant back out that I had seen him handling in the bar earlier.

"But how?"

"She told me then she would keep it always," he said with a heavy shrug.

"And so she did."

"And so she did," he replied.

There was a silence between us then. I felt like his story must be drawing to a close, but he spoke once more.

"She came to me then, while I grieved on the docks. She came to me in all of her former glory there and as I looked upon her, I was both elated and terrified, for in her eyes I saw recognition. This was not the chained ghost of the ruins; this was the spirit of Anaya Dawnrunner. She spoke to me of the cruelty of our lives and of gratitude for freeing her."

"She was not angry with you," I said, knowing in my heart there was no question.

He continued. "No, she was not angry with me," he said with a sigh.

"You will see her again," I said.

"And here I wait until then," he replied.

We sat in silence for awhile, drinking from our respective mugs. His head was down once more, the violet of his hair almost mimicking the darkness of the water below us. At some point the clouds had moved back in and the sun was obscured once again. The Veiled Sea had become veiled once more.

"Thank you for telling me your story," I told him, setting my mug down. He looked up at me once again and I could see doubt in his eyes.

"You thank me for telling you? Now you will have it for the rest of _your_ life as well."

I paused before answering. "Yes, I will," I said. "But, in a way, knowing your story, your tragedy, makes me appreciate my own life that much more."

"Aye, I guess it should, that," he replied, tipping his mug to me.

"And also, it's reassuring to know that there are still good, strong people left in the world."

"Good? Strong?" he replied with a laugh. "Those words do not describe me."

"They do though," I insisted. "What you did, fighting for the good or your people, was a noble thing. And don't tell me that you aren't strong, because you could have taken your _own_ life long ago, but instead you chose to endure, because you _knew_ Anaya would not have wanted that. You _are_ strong. One of these days you'll see it too."

He did not reply. We sat in silence for some time. It was not an uncomfortable silence; it was merely a silence of thought and contemplation.

"Things are changing again," he said suddenly. "I can feel it. You may not understand, as you are not connected to Azeroth the way a druid is, but I can feel a restlessness deep down in my bones."

As he said those words, I thought I could almost feel a rumbling of the wood upon which we sat, but then I thought it may have just been a boat docking. Cerellean was looking out at the sea once more.

"Did you feel that?" he asked. "Perhaps I won't have to wait so much longer after all."


End file.
